The Naked Truth
by Avalon3
Summary: It's the morning after for Scully and Skinner... but what exactly happened last night anyway? Sequel to A Room With a View
1. Chapter 1

The Naked Truth 1 **THE STARK CROSSED LOVERS TRILOGY III:**   
**THE NAKED TRUTH**   
by Avalon (avalon99@telusplanet.net)   
http://members.dencity.com/avalon_online   
From an idea by Sharon Nuttycombe and Linda Campbell   
Skinner, Scully, R, 1/5 

  
NOTES: This was written a couple of years back, before recent events on the show. It would probably fit in at any point in season 2-5. 

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: To Linda Campbell, brilliant Beta Reader and HTML heroine. 

DISCLAIMER: Skinner and Scully aren't mine. The handcuffs aren't mine. Skinner's skivvies aren't...well, you get the idea. 

THE NAKED TRUTH I 

  


Scully rolled over...and groaned. Pain stabbed at her temples and it felt as if someone were playing the 1812 Overture inside her head...complete with cannons. She groaned again. Everything hurt. Her body hurt, her brain hurt...even her eyelashes hurt. Slowly, tentatively, she opened one eye then closed it again hastily as light stabbed at her. For several moments, dizziness and nausea warred within her body for dominance. Both won. 

All in all, she felt rather like she was going down on the Titanic...while the band played on. 

And on. 

Whimpering softly, she opened her eyes again, then frowned. There was a large, naked chest at eye level. At least she thought it was a chest...it took several moments of concerted effort to bring her eyes into focus. Finally though, the picture swam back into view. Yes, it was definitely a chest. With hair, dipping into a V that vanished beneath the blankets...and muscles. Lots of them. Miles and miles of... Her mind was rambling. Scully shook her head slightly to clear it. 

Mistake. 

Big one. 

The pain that washed over Scully dissipated a little more quickly this time, and the conviction that she was about to die faded...slowly. After a long moment, she blinked again, stared at the chest in the bed, then tilted her head upward to look at the shoulders, neck, and head attached to it...and suddenly wished that she had died after all. 

It was Skinner. An unmoving, silent, un-bespectacled, and somewhat bruised Skinner. And, from what she could see, a naked Skinner. A shaft of horror went through her. Scully gasped, winced, then closed her eyes. "Please God," she thought desperately. "Make the world go away." 

It didn't. Shuddering inwardly, she cracked her eyes open again. He was still there. Larger than life, and twice as naked. 

Naked. Scully's eyes wandered down toward the bedsheets, lying loosely over his hips. He was lying on his back, one hand under the covers, the other resting across his ribs. Scully stared at them with morbid fascination. There was a crumpled white mass of material around his right arm...a bandage? No, it was his shirt, she realized distantly, but it was definitely not in it's usual place. Instead she could see...all those muscles. Biceps, pectorals... Unconsciously she began to list them, her eyes roving slowly downward... 

Scully suddenly realized what she was doing and hastily looked away. The rest of her surroundings swam into view. Walls, ceiling, clothes-strewn floor... It looked like a hotel room. And definitely not the Ritz. More like one of the cheap and fairly nasty hotels that tended to figure distressingly often in her investigations with Mulder... 

...Wait a minute. Her befuddled brain clicked into gear. Clothes-strewn floor. And unless the Assistant Director of the FBI had taken to wearing pale pink women's underwear... Scully stiffened then slowly, very slowly, glanced down at herself...and whimpered again softly. She was naked. Of course. A thin sheet covered her body, the same sheet that was (barely) covering Skinner. She shot him another furtive look. Still asleep. Or unconscious. Or dead. A quiver went through her and she peered more closely at him, then sighed with relief at the sight of his chest rising and falling, slowly but steadily. Of course, the sight of his chest caused another wave of emotion to go through her, an emotion which Scully determinedly ignored. 

No. First things first. For one thing, the segment of the sheet that was covering her own body was in definite peril of falling aside and baring all. And she had done more than enough of that lately. Moving as quickly as the pounding in her head would allow, Scully pulled her left hand out from beneath the covers to grab at the edge of the sheet. 

Unfortunately, Skinner's hand came with it, coming to rest on her left breast. Scully froze, not seeing at first the thin metal rings of the handcuffs that bound them together. She let out a muffled squeak... 

...And Skinner woke up. 

Skinner found himself staring into a very surprised pair of blue eyes. He blinked once...twice...and then slowly glanced around, wincing slightly. His gaze took in the hotel room, the bed, their two bodies and came to rest on his hand...and what was beneath it. Shock poured through him, followed by...something else...and then he met her gaze again. An uncomfortable silence ensued. 

It felt like a lifetime, but was probably only a matter of seconds before Skinner managed to pull himself together. It had been staggering enough to wake up in a strange hotel room, stark naked, but to find a naked Dana Scully beside him... Maybe he was dreaming. He moved his head slightly, and became suddenly convinced that it was going to fall off. Pain lanced through him. All right --definitely not a dream. In that case...he looked down again at his right hand. He should move it. Soon. 

Any time now... 

Some nerve-end must have tried to obey the disjointed commands of his brain, because his fingers twitched. And Scully squeaked again, her blue eyes widening as she stared, unmoving, at him. 

All right. It was no dream. He was definitely awake. And he was definitely naked, lying next to a similarly unclothed FBI agent. This was certainly a new experience. Then again, perhaps it wasn't. He seemed to have spent more time this week in various states of undress with the woman, than not. Perhaps it was Fate, trying to tell him something... 

With an effort, Skinner removed his hand, frowning as he noticed that her left hand moved with his. He held his arm up, his frown deepening. Handcuffs. He was handcuffed to Dana Scully. 

Oh my. 

What the hell had happened last night? Skinner struggled desperately to remember but the memories eluded him. Vague impressions of a bar, a motorcycle and, of all things, pink underwear, flickered briefly through his mind, then were gone, replaced by a confused fog. His head hurt, he realized distantly, as if a wall or three had fallen on him, and there were various twinges all over his body. His ribs ached whenever he inhaled, his right knee throbbed, and his back felt as if it had been clawed by a wildcat. 

Clawed. Wildcat. 

Naked. 

Oh god. 

Stunned, Skinner turned back to Scully, who hadn't moved or breathed since he had awakened. She was staring at him like she had seen a ghost, shock and denial in her eyes. Skinner swallowed. "Uh...Agent Scully... er...Dana..." Just what was the correct form of address in situations like this? "I...er...are you...?" Silently he cursed himself. He hadn't been this tongue-tied since he was fourteen... Scully took a sharp breath and Skinner found his gaze dropping to her breasts, which were on the verge of escaping the confines of the sheet. His mouth went dry. "Uh, Scully...you're about to lose your sheet." Damn. That was inane. 

Scully inhaled sharply, made an abortive movement with her left hand, then grabbed the sheet with her right, rescuing it just in time. She pulled it higher, holding it securely with white-knuckled fingers. Unfortunately that still left a *lot* of skin visible. Too much. One part of Skinner's body was obviously still in excellent working order and made its presence suddenly and clamorously known. Unobtrusively (at least he hoped it was unobtrusively), he raised his knees slightly, the covers forming a concealing tent around him, then he clenched his teeth. Time to take charge of the situation. Skinner swallowed deeply, looked at the woman in the bed with him, and said: "What happened, Scully?" He shot another disbelieving look at her naked shoulders and arms. 

"I was hoping you could tell me. Sir," she added belatedly. 

Skinner's mouth curved into a reluctant smile. "I think, given the circumstances, we could forego the 'Sir', don't you...ah...Dana?" There. He was handling this quite well. Logical...mature... Right. And little green men were going to burst out of the closet and do the Lambada. 

"I don't remember," Scully was saying. He regrouped his wandering thoughts and met her eyes. "That is, I remember some things, but others are a blank." 

"Me too." Another awkward silence fell. 

* * * 

Scully was having difficulties with the situation on several levels. One -- she was naked in a bed and chained to Walter Skinner. Two -- actually, number one was enough to worry about right now. More than enough. She'd deal with the rest later. If there was a later. She might just die of embarrassment first. 

He was waiting for her to say something, she realized. All right. "You can handle this," she told herself. "After all, you've been in worse situations than this." Although she couldn't think of a single one. With an effort she gathered her thoughts. 

"We...um...we seem to be handcuffed together." She cringed inwardly. Nothing like stating the obvious. Hurriedly she continued. "Do you...happen to know how we got that way?" 

Skinner paused in his examination of the metal link around his wrist, and frowned. "No. Not exactly. That is...it's all a blur." 

Scully nodded, then winced. "What happened? And how did we get here?" 

Skinner shot her a sidelong look. "Well, the obvious deduction for what happened would be that we...that is...uh, we..." 

"Checked into a seedy hotel, handcuffed ourselves together and made mad, passionate love all night long?" Scully froze in horror. Had she really just said that? Unconsciously her eyes dipped lower, down the length of his chest to the edge of the covers, and lower still... then she hastily dragged them upwards again. There was a time and place for ogling one's boss, and this was neither... 

"Well, yes. That would seem to fit the evidence," Skinner was saying, not meeting her eyes and looking exceedingly uncomfortable. A pause. "Uh...Dana, would you mind looking at my back?" 

"I beg your pardon?" She really had to find a way to control her voice and stop this asinine squeaking. She was beginning to sound like Minnie Mouse. 

"My back," he repeated. "It...ah...seems to be... scratched." He shifted slightly, as far as he could given the handcuffs, and afforded her a view of even more muscles...and long thin scratches that trailed from his shoulder blades all the way down to... 

"That's quite enough of that," she told herself firmly. "You're a doctor. Act like one." She reached out a tentative finger and he flinched. Scully snatched her hand away as if it had been burned, then hastily looked at her own fingernails. 

"Why do I feel like I should be apologizing?" she said aloud to the ceiling, as Skinner rolled back into the prone position, wincing slightly. She took a deep, calming breath, then continued. "You're right. The evidence would seem to suggest that we..." Her voice trailed off. 

"Made mad passionate love all night long?" he supplied for her, his voice dry. 

"Well, yes." 

"I don't believe it." 

Scully blinked and turned her head toward him. "Excuse me?" 

"I said 'I don't believe it.'" 

"But...why not?" 

He levered himself up onto his side and stared down at her. "Because," he said intensely, "if I _had_ made love to you Dana Scully, I would have remembered every second." And then he leaned closer. 

END OF PART ONE 

  



	2. Chapter 2

The Naked Truth 2 **THE STARK CROSSED LOVERS TRILOGY III:**   
**THE NAKED TRUTH**   
by Avalon (avalon99@telusplanet.net)   
http://members.dencity.com/avalon_online   
From an idea by Sharon Nuttycombe and Linda Campbell   
Skinner, Scully, R, 2/5   


THE NAKED TRUTH II 

  


Scully froze. As Skinner leaned closer, her mind stopped working altogether. 

It was too much. A person only had so much willpower. What other woman would be able to abstain from...from...well, anything...if she woke up to find herself naked in bed and handcuffed to a six-foot-something, muscular, ex-Marine? It was taking everything she had not to reach out and caress his chest, to curl her fingers around the back of his neck, and pull him down to her... 

No. This was unproductive. They should be working on a way to extricate themselves from this absurd predicament, and trying to remember just how they had got here in the first place, not... 

Not... 

Scully moaned softly, her eyes flickering shut as Skinner's lips hovered just above hers, his breath caressing her cheek. Her willpower gave a last, distressed little whimper before curling up in a dark corner of her mind and dying a quick death. She reached blindly for him. 

* * * 

What was he doing? He should be trying to maintain a sense of professionalism and decorum. Then again, how much decorum could one muster up when naked and chained to a beautiful woman? Especially one whose breath was coming quickly, her fingers running lightly across his chest and shoulders, one who... 

Skinner's conscience suddenly awoke, took one horrified look around, and set off a series of alarms in his head. They were ignored. It tried again, lobbing a few quick directives at Skinner's skull. They bounced right back. And then Scully shifted her weight, the entire length of her body pressing against his...and Skinner's conscience was overcome by a rampaging army of hormones and lust. 

* * * 

Skinner's mouth met hers, his free hand going down back to cup her buttocks, pulling her snugly to him, his other, handcuffed hand pinning hers down to the bed. Scully could feel his arousal pressing against her, his tongue insistently forcing her lips open, and she arched up against him. Electricity shot through them both and Skinner pressed even closer, rolling so that his body covered hers completely, one knee sliding between her thighs. Scully moaned again. 

His hands ran slowly over her skin, their tongues merging and melding until she didn't know where she ended and he began. Blindly, she ran her free hand up, across his ribs and over the muscles of his back...and the scratches on it. 

Skinner flinched and for an instant he pulled away. It was no more than a second or two, but it was enough. Sanity and realization galloped back into Scully's brain at full speed. She couldn't do this. 

She. Could. Not. Do. This. 

But she wanted to. She had never wanted anything so much in her life. Her hands were shaking, her body still unconsciously striving upwards to meet his, and tremors were racking her body. Somehow though, she managed to gasp: "Walter." 

A haze had descended over Skinner's vision and all higher brain functions seemed to have stopped completely. Fire was licking through his frame and the need inside him was so great he thought it would tear him apart. But, at the sound of her voice, he paused, opening his eyes to meet her blue ones. There was denial in them. 

No. 

"Dana, don't do this," he managed to say thickly, his hips moving against hers. 

Her voice was shaky. "We can't. Not here. Not yet. We...we still don't know what happened. Or how we got here." 

She was right. Damn her. And damn him. It took more strength of mind than Skinner had thought he possessed, but somehow he managed to regain control of himself, enough to lever his body off hers and come to a shaking halt on his back beside her. He stared blindly up at the ceiling, his breathing ragged and his heart racing. Beside him, Scully did not move. Silence fell. Finally: 

"Sorry." 

Skinner closed his eyes briefly. "No, _I'm_ sorry." 

She shot him a covert glance. "Sorry for what almost happened, or sorry we stopped?" 

He opened his eyes and turned to look at her. "Which would you prefer?" 

Her mouth went dry and no words came. Skinner waited a moment then heaved a sigh and sat up. "Let's just get dressed and get out of here and we'll...talk...later." 

It was like a cold shower washing over her. Scully blinked at him then sat up as well, clutching the sheet before her. She didn't see the look on her companion's face as he glanced at her bare back, or the expression of pure need and desire that washed over him. She frowned, changing the subject. "I don't feel hungover, do you?" 

Skinner's jaw clenched, then he forced his brain to shift gears, and replied: "I've got all the symptoms... but I don't think it was alcohol that got us in this position..." There was a brief silence as they pondered their actual _position_ and then Skinner resumed. "Actually, I feel more like someone's hit me over the head with a brick." 

Scully turned swiftly toward him, her right hand holding the sheet firmly before her. She made a brief motion with the other to reach out towards his forehead, then stopped herself hastily. Touching the man was definitely out of the question, she decided...at least until she managed to get herself under some sort of control. Disbelief was starting to rise within her again. Had she really just thrown herself at her boss? And had she really stopped him in the middle of...everything? And which did she regret more? 

Hurriedly, Scully redirected her thoughts, taking a deep, calming breath. As she did, memory flickered through her. She paused, frowned, then swallowed. "I think I owe you another apology," she said slowly. 

Skinner looked back over his shoulder at her. He was leaning as far out of the bed as he could, trying to reach something on the floor. Scully watched as he wobbled precariously for a moment, part of her mind wondering what she would do if his balance went and he dragged her down with him. She didn't think she'd be able to pull away again if she found herself lying on top of him...his skin warm against hers, all those muscles rippling beneath her...his... 

"...what?" 

Scully took a startled breath and refocused. "What?" 

"I said," he leaned over a little further, revealing more of his posterior than was good for Scully's blood pressure, "'Apologize for what?'" 

What? Oh yes. With an effort she wrenched her eyes away from her boss' behind and stared at the wall. It was a very dull wall. "I think someone did hit you over the head," she said weakly, "but it wasn't with a brick...it was with a chair." 

Skinner abruptly resurfaced, coming up with a sock in his hand. He peered at it for an instant then plunged both hands under the bedcovers with it, raising his foot high enough to reach. 

Scully found her left arm being dragged down with his right, and gasped as her knuckles brushed his thigh. Her heart-rate, which had slowed considerably in the last few minutes, shot up again and a tremor went through her. "I'm going to have a coronary if he keeps this up," she thought randomly. She couldn't imagine what she would do when he eventually found his underwear... 

"A chair?" he was saying, as he pulled his sock on, then he straightened and leaned back over his side of the bed, like a fisherman waiting for the catch of the day. Once again, a feeling of unreality shot through Scully. Here she was, trying to carry on a conversation with a man who, at the moment was wearing nothing but one sock and a crumpled white shirt around his right arm. And who was her immediate superior. How the hell was she going to face him the next time she and Mulder were called to his office or when she passed him in the hall? She was never going to be able to get the images of the past few minutes out of her mind... 

He came up with a shoe, frowned at it, then dropped it again. "Who hit me with a chair?" he asked. 

Scully swallowed again, nervously. "Well...I think I did." 

That got his attention. There was a long pause, then: "Why?" 

The memories were coming a little quicker now, as if the first had merely been the key to unlocking the rest. Scully stared past him, not meeting his eyes. "I wasn't aiming at you," she said hastily. 

An undecipherable expression crossed Skinner's face. "That's a relief. Who were you aiming at?" 

"A biker." 

"A biker?" 

"A biker. In a bar." 

"A biker bar, I suppose." Skinner stiffened, then bent down over the side again, still talking. "I do remember a little. I think. There was a fight. I was fighting a man with a red beard...and... Scully! You hit me with a chair!" He shot her an accusing glance over his shoulder. 

"I said I was sorry," she said defensively. "I was aiming for the man with the beard." 

"You missed." 

There wasn't really an answer for that, so she said nothing. After a short pause, Skinner continued. 

"All right," he said, grunting a little as he stretched further for another article of clothing. "You hit me over the head with a chair. That explains why I'm having difficulties remembering what happened. It still doesn't explain why we were in a barfight in the first place, how we got here, why we're handcuffed together, or why you can't remember anything either." He paused, sat back up and stared at the item of apparel in his hand. Then, not meeting her eyes, he handed it to her. "Yours, I believe." 

It was her bra. Her lacy, strapless, pale pink bra. Damn. If she blushed much more she was probably going to spontaneously combust. "Thank you," she managed to say evenly enough. Skinner made a faint motion, half-shrug, half-sheepish squirm, and politely looked away...leaving her with something of a dilemma. How the devil was she supposed to get the thing on one-handed? 

* * * 

Scully had reached a new level of embarrassment by the time she managed to untangle the lacy garment, manoeuvre it around her body, and twist both arms behind her enough to fasten it. Skinner had remained motionless beside her through the whole proceedings, staring blindly into the distance and carefully keeping his chained hand as far away from her body as possible. Finally, she finished and gave him a baleful look. 

"This would be a lot easier if we just got out of bed and forgot about modesty. After all, we're both adults." _And you don't have anything I haven't seen before_ Scully just managed to choke back the last part, unable to believe she had come so close to mentioning the last time she had seen him in his apartment...stark naked and clutching a videotape. If there was ever something she did _not_ want to remind Walter Skinner of, it was that. 

"I don't think so." Skinner was saying, his tone remarkably even and calm. 

Scully bit her lip. "Why not?" 

He still didn't look at her. "Because if I see you naked again, dressing will be the last thing I do." The calmness had vanished from his voice and his words were laced with pure, urgent need. He turned to her and the raw desire in his eyes took her breath away. Time seemed to stop altogether. 

END OF PART TWO 

  



	3. Chapter 3

The Naked Truth 3 **THE STARK CROSSED LOVERS TRILOGY III:**   
**THE NAKED TRUTH**   
by Avalon (avalon99@telusplanet.net)   
http://members.dencity.com/avalon_online   
From an idea by Sharon Nuttycombe and Linda Campbell   
Skinner, Scully, R, 3/5   


THE NAKED TRUTH III 

  


Scully was the first to look away. "Er...ah...do you remember anything else? About the bar?" she added hastily. 

Skinner tensed, visibly regained control, then strove to match her even tone. "No...nothing...except you hitting me with the chair..." Scully flinched slightly. "...and the police." 

She turned to him. "The police?" 

Skinner frowned, his thoughts turning inward. There was a moment of silence then he looked down at the handcuffs binding their wrists together. "I think we were arrested." There was a note of disbelief in his voice. Scully met his eyes. The silence was even longer this time. Finally she took a deep breath. 

"Close your eyes, Sir," she said firmly. "I'm going to getting dressed. 

* * * 

It had been an...interesting...experience, dressing while chained to her boss, Scully decided. He had gallantly kept his eyes closed as requested, shifting his chained wrist as necessary while she struggled into her tangled clothes. The worst part had been when she had had to crawl halfway under the bed to reach the rest her underwear. If he had happened to open his eyes at that precise moment... But in the end she had managed it. 

The blouse had been the most difficult part -- it was completely torn down the left sleeve. She had held it up, frowned pensively at it for a long minute, then had looked down at the cuffs again. It had obviously been torn to get it off her in the first place. But who had done the tearing...and why? She shot the man beside her another surreptitious glance. 

They had had to pin it back together with the safety pins in her purse, which they found under Skinner's pants. It still didn't feel all that secure, and was definitely on the far side of decency, but it was an improvement. Scully glanced down at herself. She was now wearing the skirt, shoes, and remnants of the blouse she had been wearing when she had gone to Skinner's apartment to return his papers...yesterday? They hadn't been able to find her stockings and her hair probably looked like she'd been attacked by a mad hairdresser...but at least she was clothed -- well, mostly... 

"Are you finished?" Skinner was standing beside her, still naked except for one sock and the bedsheet he was holding wrapped around his waist. His eyes were carefully shut. 

Scully paused before answering, allowing herself a moment to feast her eyes on his body...and all those muscles. Unconsciously she sighed. 

"Well?" He prompted. 

Scully shook herself, rounding up her wandering thoughts, and replied: "Your turn." 

He opened his eyes...and a slow smile crossed his face, widening to a grin. 

Scully frowned. "What?" 

He swallowed the grin. "Sorry. It's just this is a new look for you, Agent Scully." 

She glanced down again at the safety pins holding her left sleeve together and her skirt, which had a long tear up one side, revealing more than a little of her thigh. An rueful smile caught at her lips. "You can talk," she pointed out, looking at his bedsheet. "You look like a refugee from an Roman orgy." 

Their smiles faded as awareness stole over them again. Once more the room seemed to be charged with sexual currents. Scully bit her lip. Between the two of them, they were generating enough electricity to light up half the city. It was a wonder the room hadn't burst into flames. "When had that happened?" she wondered silently. When had just the thought of Walter Skinner being near her...looking at her...become enough to shred her self-control? 

This time it was Skinner that reluctantly turned away. He looked around the room at his clothes strewn across tables, chairs, and the floor; sighed; transferred his grip on the sheet to his right hand then bent to pick them up with his left. Entranced, Scully watched as the back of his bedsheet dipped a little lower at the movement, fully conscious that her handcuffed hand was only a fraction of an inch away from his right hip. 

"So...have you remembered anything else?" Skinner asked, in an effort to change the subject. He moved around the room retrieving his clothes, Scully following obediently. 

She dragged her eyes away from his backside and looked up at the ceiling, trying to recreate the events that were slowly emerging from the fog in her mind. "I went to your apartment to return your papers," she said, "but you were..." No. She wouldn't go into that now. She continued hastily. "And...and after I left, I went down to my car and..." Memory flashed through her mind, like lightning. "I was mugged," she said in disbelief. 

Skinner paused in the act of trying to separate his underwear from his pants one-handed and looked back at her, a frown creasing his forehead. "I...remember that. After you left, I...er...got dressed and came down after you to get the papers back...and someone...on a motorcycle snatched your purse. He nearly ran you down!" He broke off as he realized he had raised his left hand to punctuate his words and was, in effect, waving his white briefs in the air. Hastily he dropped his arm. "Are you all right?" he asked, concern in his voice. 

Scully was staring at him, a horrified look on her face. "The papers," she yelped before bolting toward the far side of the room. 

Skinner was taken completely by surprise and found himself being pulled around after her. He took a few hasty steps, hit the edge of the bedsheet...and crashed to the ground. Taken by surprise at the sudden weight on her left arm, Scully was jerked to a halt, staggered once...and fell back on him, coming to rest on his chest. The air left her lungs in a sudden burst of air. 

Skinner had had more of his share of shocks this morning, but finding a dishevelled Dana Scully lying on top of him definitely ranked in the top ten. Her skirt had ridden up around her thighs and the safety pins in her blouse were in danger of giving way entirely. She lay unmoving, gasping for air. 

Skinner paused to take stock. The bedsheet was tangled around his legs and Scully's weight was pinning his free arm to the ground. Unless he put a lot of effort into it, he wasn't going anywhere until she was recovered enough to move. And right now, the thought of putting a lot of effort into _anything_ wasn't very appealing... He decided to just stay put for awhile and enjoy himself. 

The end came rather rapidly. Scully finally managed to drag some air into her oxygen-starved lungs, croaked out something unintelligible, and launched herself off the Assistant Director, back toward the table in the corner. Her elbow connected painfully with his sore ribs and one of her feet caught him in the knee that had been throbbing unmercifully ever since he had awakened...all of which drove any lustful thoughts temporarily from his mind. 

* * * 

Scully reached for the purse lying on the table, her world temporarily narrowed to just one goal. Behind her, Skinner still lay spreadeagled on his back, his right arm stretched over his head as she tugged at him futilely. She could _almost_ reach, but the handcuffs and his weight prevented her from closing the last part of the distance to her purse. "Come on!" she muttered impatiently, her breathing now almost completely restored. She gave the cuffs a sudden jerk, ignoring the exclamation that came from the Assistant Director, and managed to snag the purse strap with one finger. Gingerly she pulled it toward her and hastily shook it open. And a wave of relief so strong it left her shaking in its wake, went through her. The papers were there. Those damned, top-secret, highly-classified papers that Skinner had lent her...they were there. Scully took a deep breath and collapsed backwards, unconsciously coming to rest against Skinner's side. 

For a long moment, neither moved. Then: "Are you going to tell me what that was about?" There was nothing but polite curiousity in Skinner's voice. 

Scully pulled the papers out of her purse and waved them in the air. "Your papers. The ones I've been trying to return for what seems like centuries." 

He made no move to take them. "They smell like beer." Again, there was nothing in his voice to reveal what he was feeling. 

Scully stiffened then held them under her nose. She took a cautious sniff. "You're right. It must have happened at the bar." 

"We followed the thief to a bar." It wasn't quite a question. 

Scully nodded. The holes in her memory were growing smaller all the time. There were only a few gaps left now...not least of which was how she had ended up in bed with Walter Skinner... "Yes," she replied. "We followed him to a bar where you tried to apprehend him. He put up a fight." 

"The man with the beard." 

Scully nodded. 

"And then you hit me with a chair." 

She twisted around to peer into his face. "I didn't have my gun." 

A wry grin twisted his lips. "Just as well. You might have shot me." 

"I would not..." she started to say hotly, then broke off as she realized he was joking. Funny, Scully thought, she had never thought that Walter Skinner might have a sense of humour. Still, she supposed, he would need one, given what they had been through in the last twenty-four hours. Abruptly she realized she was still leaning against his chest. Sighing inwardly, she sat back up. "Are you going to get up?" she asked. 

"Only if you promise to warn me before galloping off across the room again." 

"I promise." Scully smiled at him, a warm, unguarded smile. He smiled back. A companionable silence fell. 

Then, without warning, Skinner surged to his feet, bringing her up with him. The bedsheet almost didn't come too; only his iron grip on its edge kept it wrapped around his waist. "All right, Dana," he said, "we went to a bar and you hit me with a chair. It seems your memory is in better shape than mine. So -- you talk, I'll dress." 

END OF PART THREE 


	4. Chapter 4

The Naked Truth 4 **THE STARK CROSSED LOVERS TRILOGY III:**   
**THE NAKED TRUTH**   
by Avalon (avalon99@telusplanet.net)   
http://members.dencity.com/avalon_online   
From an idea by Sharon Nuttycombe and Linda Campbell   
Skinner, Scully, R, 4/5   


THE NAKED TRUTH IV   


Scully was steadfastly trying to ignore the fact that her boss was dressing not two feet away from her. She kept her gaze carefully averted. It didn't help. Her hand brushed against a certain part of his anatomy as he was pulling on his underwear, and she took a deep breath. "You're a doctor," she told herself firmly. "Get a grip." 

Unfortunately, she didn't have to be a doctor to know just _what_ portion of his anatomy she had been touching, and a small voice inside her informed her in no uncertain terms exactly _what_ she'd like to get a grip on... 

She gave herself an inward shake, and resumed speaking. "All right," she said, her gaze fixed on the nearby table, "During the barfight, the police showed up and started to arrest everyone. They must have planned the raid all along...and we were in the wrong place at the wrong time." 

"So why didn't we just explain who we were?" The sound of jeans sliding over his legs and hips made Scully lose concentration for a moment. "Scully?" 

She blinked. "If I remember correctly, you said not to." 

"Why?" There was surprise in his voice. 

"Um...I think you mentioned something about 'if this ever gets back to the Bureau'...And then we ducked out the back door as a brawl broke out. I...I think the Police chased us, but we got away." 

"Resisting arrest, leaving the scene..." Skinner muttered. "Wonderful. Just wonderful." 

Scully risked a quick glance over her shoulder. He was trying to untangle the shirt that was wrapped around his arm. "If it's any consolation," she said helpfully, "you did have a concussion. You weren't entirely responsible for your actions." 

"So why didn't you stop me?" He had managed to get the shirt back over his shoulders and was working industriously on the buttons. 

Scully cocked an eyebrow. "We were handcuffed together. And in case you haven't noticed, you outweigh me...significantly. Short of doing long-term bodily harm, I didn't have much of a hope..." 

Skinner met her eyes. "Thanks for restraining yourself. So what happened next?" 

"We stole a Harley." 

"We stole a Harley?" 

"We stole a Harley." 

Skinner paused, obviously needing a few moments to absorb that. Finally: "All right, we fled the scene on a stolen motorcycle. I suppose we can add grand theft auto to the list. What else?" 

Scully frowned. This was where her memories started to break down. "I'm not sure. It's...a little hazy...but I think we drove into the Potomac." 

The silence this time was even more loaded. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Skinner asked: "Why?" 

"I believe you lost control of the bike. After that...I don't remember anything until we woke up this morning. I must have hit my head." 

Skinner turned around, now completely dressed except for one missing sock. "Are you sure that's all you remember?" 

Scully nodded. 

"All right," Skinner continued. "We were wandering through the night, soaking wet, handcuffed together, with a pair of concussions, and avoiding police pursuit. That still doesn't explain how..." His voice broke off. 

"What?" 

He spoke slowly. "I just remembered what happened to my back." 

Scully's eyes flickered to his shoulders, remembering the long scratches on his skin. She swallowed. "Well?" 

"We escaped by ducking under a barbed wire fence." He paused. "Which, I suppose, adds trespassing to our list of accomplishments." 

Scully sighed. "Were there any laws we _didn't_ break last night?" 

He shot her a look. "I'm fairly certain we didn't kill anyone." 

"That's a relief." Her tone was dry. 

Skinner shot her a look then headed back towards the table, pulling Scully after him. She stared at him in consternation as he silently crawled underneath it. 

"Um...Walter?" 

"Yes?" He started to back out. 

"What are you...? Oh." The Assistant Director emerged, a shoe in his hand. He didn't bother to climb back to his feet; merely sat down where he was to pull it on. 

"Have you seen my other shoe, Scully?" 

Shaking off yet another wave of unreality that had assailed her, Scully turned to scan the room. "No." 

He got back to his feet. "It's got to be here somewhere." 

"Not necessarily. It could be in the Potomac," she replied witheringly. 

"Mmm. Good point." Absently he tucked his shirt into his pants as he prowled around the room once more. Scully padded silently after him. Finally: "Damn. I liked those shoes." 

Scully's eyes flickered toward him. "It could have been worse." 

"Meaning?" 

"Meaning you could have lost...oh...say...your pants." 

"In which case I would have refused to leave this room and they'd have found us in a week or two, curled up in the corner, dead of starvation." He gave her a faint grin, which quickly vanished. "Dana...About what happened..." 

Scully hesitated. "When? Last night or...just now?" 

"Just now." His eyes had darkened, she noticed. With desire? Unconsciously she flicked her tongue out to lick dry lips. His eyes followed the movement and he took a half-step closer. "I probably should apologize," he said softly. 

Once again, Scully's heart began to pound. "Why?" She matched his low tones. "I'd say that finding yourself chained to a naked woman in a strange bed could be considered sufficient provocation for one kiss. And I...I didn't exactly put up a struggle, did I?" He was almost touching her now, his body a hairsbreadth away from hers. It would take so little -- one movement, one thought even... 

Something kept her talking. One last piece of the puzzle that she had to solve first...before they... "You...you still haven't explained how we ended up there..." 

"Where?" It was no more than a whisper. 

"Naked in bed." 

Slowly, as if giving her time to move away, he raised his hand and lightly touched her cheek. She didn't move. Instead, Scully found herself leaning into the touch, her eyes flickering shut as sparks of electricity shot through her. Something touched her hair...his lips?...and she sighed. 

When he spoke again, his voice sounded muffled. "That was your doing, Dana, not mine." His hand left her cheek, moving to encircle her waist. Gently he pulled her toward him, closing the last distance between them. "I believe your exact words were: 'if we don't get our clothes off _now_ we'll both catch hypothermia.' And then you muttered something about me not having anything you hadn't seen before." 

Scully's eyes flew open to meet a very amused pair of brown ones, and the most relaxed, unguarded expression she had ever seen on his face. "I said that?" she said, in complete disbelief. 

Skinner nodded, one hand slowly wandering down her back while the fingers of the other entwined with hers. He grinned. "You couldn't wait to throw me on the bed and get my clothes off. Very aggressive, Scully." 

Her mouth dropped open...but whatever she was going to say was swallowed by Skinner's kiss. She gasped in surprise, and his tongue hastily took advantage of her parted lips, thrusting deeply inside. He pulled her closer, wedging their hips together as he continued to explore the inner recesses of her mouth. His arousal pressed tightly against her...and then she was kissing him back, her free hand running down the length of his spine and over his buttocks, then back up to his muscular shoulders. 

Skinner pulled away briefly, and she made a sound of protest, but then he was trailing fire down her throat, his lips caressing her skin, and the sound turned to one of pleasure. He muttered something as his fingers went to the buttons of her blouse. "What?" Scully managed to say. 

"I said," he repeated, a little indistinctly, "that getting dressed was obviously a waste of time." And then he had opened the blouse, one hand sliding beneath her bra... 

"I agree," Scully said breathlessly. He moved the bra gently aside, his mouth found her breast...and her thought processes stopped altogether. Blindly she reached for the zipper on his jeans... 

...and outside a police siren wailed by, sounding loudly just beneath the window before fading away into the distance. 

At the sound, Skinner gave a muffled curse, broke away, flung Scully to the ground, and threw himself on top of her. 

Silence descended. 

* * * 

"Walter." 

"Erm...Yes?" 

"What are you doing?" 

A long silence. "Uh...nothing." 

Another silence. Then: "Your elbow...or something ...is digging into my ribs..." 

"It's my _elbow_, Scully." 

"Well, whatever it is, could you please move it?" A pause. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome." 

Scully stared up at him. "Are you going to explain?" 

"Explain what?" 

"What we're doing on the floor." 

Skinner smiled sheepishly, then pulled them both to their feet. "Sorry," he said. "I think I was having a flashback from last night." 

She straightened her clothes then tentatively touched his arm. "Don't worry about it. Driving a Harley into the Potomac when you have a concussion is enough to make anyone a little...siren-shy. But I'd appreciate a bit of warning next time." 

"It did break the mood, didn't it?" There was regret in his voice. 

Scully tilted her head on one side, then nodded silently. He was right. The passion had died down to a dull simmer -- being tossed to the floor tended to do that to her -- although she had the sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't take much of a spark to set it off again. Her heart was still racing, pounding so loudly she was surprised he couldn't hear it. She forced herself to turn away, picking up her purse. "Maybe it's for the best," she said, somewhat wistfully. 

Skinner didn't move, stopping her with a tug on the handcuffs. She turned back to look at him...and drew in her breath. She was wrong. The desire hadn't faded -- it was still burning in his eyes, an inferno barely held in check. Tantalizingly slowly, he reached out and rebuttoned her blouse one-handed, his knuckles brushing lightly against her flesh. 

"I am going to make love to you, Dana Katherine Scully," he said, his voice a low growl. "Not here, not now. But soon. That's a promise." 

And then he was leading her toward the doorway, and Scully could only nod weakly and follow him in silence. 

END OF PART FOUR 


	5. Chapter 5

The Naked Truth Epilogue **THE STARK CROSSED LOVERS TRILOGY III:**   
**THE NAKED TRUTH**   
by Avalon (avalon99@telusplanet.net)   
http://members.dencity.com/avalon_online   
From an idea by Sharon Nuttycombe and Linda Campbell   
Skinner, Scully, R, 5/5   


THE NAKED TRUTH V   
EPILOGUE__

  


Mulder was looking at her. She could tell. She could feel his eyes following her every move. Did the man never blink? Scully's fingers curled around a nearby paperweight. One more minute and she was going to throw it at him. Hard. She shifted uneasily in her chair, frowning at the papers on her desk. 

He was still watching her. 

That does it! She surged to her feet, the paperweight clenched in her fist. "Stop that right now!" 

Mulder raised an eyebrow. "Stop what?" 

She took a threatening pace forward. "You know perfectly well. Stop _thinking_ at me. And stop watching me!" 

"'Thinking at you' Scully?" Innocence coloured his voice. 

She growled. There was no other word for it. "You know what I mean. You're dying to say it -- why don't you just get it over with?" 

"Say what?" His eyebrows climbed higher. 

"Ask me why I was handcuffed to the Assistant Director of the FBI outside a seedy motel yesterday. Just say it Mulder!" 

He obliged. "Why were you handcuffed to the Assistant Director of the FBI outside a seedy motel yesterday?" 

She clenched her teeth, tossed the paperweight into her other hand and sat down again. "It's none of your business." 

Mulder gave her a disbelieving glance then stood up to walk around his desk. "Given that I was the one who picked you both up and got you out of there, I think I deserve some sort of explanation." 

She narrowed her eyes. He was right. He deserved something. If he hadn't been searching the neighbourhood after the police had found her car at the bar, she and Skinner might still be out there, searching desperately for a cab. 

Still, Scully would have been a lot happier if someone else had come to their rescue. _Anyone_ else. It wasn't that Mulder had actually _said_ anything when he had pulled up beside them outside the motel. No, it was the expression on his face. Or rather, the total lack of expression. As if he hadn't been at all surprised to find her looking like she had just been through an orgy and chained to a dishevelled ex-Marine who was missing a shoe. 

No. He didn't deserve an explanation. She didn't have one to give him anyway. When it became apparent that she wasn't going to answer him, Mulder shrugged and gave her a quick grin. "Well, you know what they say, Scully...still waters run deep. And I'd like my handcuff keys back, please." A pause. "Unless you think you might need them later..." 

"Shut up Mulder." She climbed to her feet, grabbed her coat and pushed past her partner. "I'm going home." With that, she was gone. 

* * * 

Scully stared blindly at her ceiling, images of the past few days going through her mind. So far she had answered her door naked and found herself lying underneath an unconscious Walter Skinner, had seen him at his apartment vaulting furniture wearing nothing but a videotape, had hit him over the head with a chair, had driven into the Potomac with him on a stolen motorbike, and had woken up handcuffed to him, both of them stark naked. 

Naked Skinner. Miles and miles of ex-Marine. 

Actually, it hadn't been such a bad week after all... 

Scully ran the back of her hand over her forehead. Was it getting hot in here? 

She was just contemplating getting up to open a window when the doorbell rang. Scully stared at the door pensively for a long moment. She knew who it was. Beyond any doubt. The only question was whether or not she was going to let him in. 

Who was she kidding? Of course she was going to let him in. With only a faint hint of trepidation, Scully climbed to her feet and crossed the room. She hesitated once, then, with a deep breath, swung the door open. 

It was...a pot of petunias. Pink ones. Scully blinked then peered around the corner. Skinner was leaning against the wall, arms folded, a videotape in one hand. 

"Thought you might be interested in a movie, Agent Scully." 

A wicked glimmer lit her eyes. "The Rock?" 

"No. Die Hard." 

Without pausing, Scully reached out a hand, grabbed him by the shirt, and pulled him forward into her apartment. "Let's hope so," she said, grinning. 

THE END 


End file.
